


Haastal

by ZoinksSc00b



Series: Atiniir [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Crack Treated Seriously, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24695191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoinksSc00b/pseuds/ZoinksSc00b
Summary: Fives’ death is the start of undeniable change with Palpatine making his intentions clear to a certain commander. Fox can do nothing but watch as the Republic morphs into the Empire. After uncovering a way to escape the Emperor’s grasp, he sets out to make amends the only way he can.OrFox discovers family can mean a Sith’s heir, a reconditioned clone, a Jedi youngling, and a bounty hunter.
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox/Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, Dogma (Star Wars)/CC-1010 | Fox
Series: Atiniir [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793929
Comments: 20
Kudos: 75
Collections: Commander Fox, TexWash's Must Reads and Rereads





	1. Mind Control

**Author's Note:**

> Haastal (n.): dried blood; scab; lasting emotional scar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has implied rape in it.
> 
> This is part of a series. Would it make more sense if you read the rest? Yes. Can this be read alone? Absolutely. 
> 
> Hope y’all enjoy my contribution to Commander Fox Week.

Fox had never been one to deal with his problems in a way the majority of the population would consider "healthy". Sometimes alcohol magically ended up in his morning, midday, afternoon, and nighttime cafs. He wasn't going to waste a perfectly good brew. That would be heresy. Which was probably the reason why he found himself in his office with a 79's beer in hand and a grievance report on his desk.

He deserved to be punished for what he had done. He had killed aliit and there was no greater crime a vod could commit. The sad truth of the matter was that no one would ever take the word of a clone over a natborn. Rex was right: no one important, no one who could do anything, would listen to the report.

He thought he had left his pistol on stun, but thinking wasn't enough. Thinking wouldn't bring Fives back. What made him hate himself more was how he couldn't even remember pulling the trigger. There had been a moment where he wondered which idiot had shot to kill. A moment where he had looked around at his vode only to find them staring back at him in disbelief.

Thorn hadn't cared for his feeble defense. He had pointed out how pathetic it was of him to search for pity. He told him he had changed since he decided to shoot a brother straight through the heart like an aruetii. Fox had become quick to snap at the other members of the Guard and he could tell they were waiting for him to crack. Who would be the next unlucky vod to find themself on the receiving end of the commander's blaster?

So there he was, attempting to blackout. The past week had been hell and he preferred forgetting his troubles even if for a little while. Kamino hadn't taught him how to properly cope, but his batchmates had taught him how to drink until loss became another suppressed memory. If there was anyone to blame for his stunted emotions, it was Cody, Wolffe, Bly, and Ponds.

He was on his fourth bottle, barely feeling a buzz, when his comm started beeping. For a second, he considered chucking the annoying device against the wall. He could deal with the consequences of not answering, but for some reason, he felt compelled to. There was a niggle in the back of his mind urging him to accept the call.

The voice on the other side was robotic and monotone which meant he was getting an automated summons from the Chancellor. He wasn't worthy enough to hear the sacred words of Palpatine over a comm. Fox let out the biggest sigh he could muster before chugging the rest of his drink. He replaced his emotions with the sensation of the cool glass and the warmth sliding down his throat. Fox was really looking forward to whatever bullshit the Chancellor had in store, but it would be much more bearable if he was a little tipsy. He prayed it was extra paperwork and nothing else.

\------

As he entered the office, he was met with the tinge of a melody crooning around the room. His exasperation weakened and was replaced with the numb apathy he took up whenever he spoke to the Chancellor or any senator for that matter. He believed the beer might've been kicking in because there was a hint of genuine calm as he went further in. There wasn't even any anger when his eyes landed on Palpatine. However, he was confused by where the man was located. He was sitting on one of the couches leading up to his desk and Fox didn't think he'd actually seen them being used before. Apparently, they were for more than just decoration.

_Weird._

But what was weirder was the smile he was given by the Chancellor. It was beckoning him as the calm he felt pooled into the pit of his stomach, yet he couldn't ignore the way his instincts were going haywire like there was an unknown lurking below the surface. Something was watching him, stalking him until they could strike, but there were only two people in the room.

The Chancellor motioned towards the spot next to him, grin never dropping, "Commander, come have a drink with me." There was a table between him and Palpatine where a rectangular, grey bottle was situated with a glass by its side. The twin of the glass was holding a clear liquid in Palpatine's hand which he sipped before continuing, "I would like to thank you. I can't imagine how much it pained you to kill one of your own."

He was taken aback by the sympathy being illustrated in front of him. The pity appeared to be authentic with the smile tilting downwards and eyes softening in concern. Palpatine was concerned about _him_. That was unexpected. A sour taste attached to his tongue because the man, even with his condolence, was grateful he had killed one of his vod, but it was short-lived. The calm took over once again.

"It had to be done. It has always been an honor to ensure your safety," he lied through his teeth, but there was nothing else he could say.

He had to keep himself from scowling as the Chancellor nodded, pouring alcohol into the empty glass. Did he seriously comm him up here merely to drink with him? He had shit he needed to do like paperwork and getting drunk by himself. This was a waste of time, but a part of him wanted to stay.

The same part watched the flow of liquid as he modestly said, "I don't think it would be proper of me to."

"I insist,” Palpatine presented the drink to Fox, the inviting stare from earlier coming forth. It wasn't an order, so he didn't understand why jolts coursed through him at the thought of denying him.

_Fuck it_ , he basically ripped the glass from the Chancellor's outreached hand. A free drink was a free drink, so he would tolerate that bastard's company for now. His helmet was discarded to join the bottle on the table as he established his place on the couch. It was extremely stiff and uncomfortable. He could figure out why they were generally avoided.

Nevertheless, swigging the mystery drink did make the situation better. It went down smooth and had a creamy texture: sweet and clearly a quality beverage. The drink tasted like wasted tax dollars or someone's salary. He didn't care about how stupidly drunk he would get, he was going to get his money's worth out of this gathering.

Once he had finished, he stared pensively at the bottle, "This is vodka, right?

The Chancellor almost seemed pleased by how fast he had downed the drink. He hummed happily as he started refilling Fox's cup, "Breath of Heaven. A little bit stronger than what they serve at 79's."

"Tastes better too," he pointed out while he relaxed into the firm sofa. The vodka served at 79's tasted like acetone. This would definitely aid him in forgetting about Fives. Even if the person who had ordered him to apprehend the vod was right next to him.

He savored the next sip he took, "What's the proof?"

"One hundred and seventy," Palpatine deadpanned, starting to replenish his own supply. Upon seeing Fox's astonishment at the number, he assured, "It has been watered down of course."

Fox snorted, "That's still more than a little bit. Should you be drinking this?"

"Never underestimate those around you," Palpatine glanced coyly at him over the top of his glass.

"I don't want to be the last person to see you alive, sir." He longed to witness the Chancellor die from alcohol poisoning, but he didn't feel like being the prime suspect in a murder case.

He did not appreciate the intense gaze Palpatine continued giving him, "Please, call me Sheev. We've known each other for years, Fox. I think it would be appropriate to skip the formalities."

His nose scrunched in revulsion at the casual way Palpatine said Fox (Great, he was losing the ability to control his emotional output just like Cody when he was drunk.). Like he was going to call the Chancellor by his first name, but the calm was there in the back of his head convincing him otherwise. He caved in to it, "This is anything but formal, Sheev."

"Everyone has to have a time where they relax and forget their daily responsibilities," but there was this satisfied smirk crossing his face that did not sit well with Fox. He shoved down the feelings with the calm. This was fine. It wasn't like anything bad would happen. Nothing could be worse than what had already been done.

He raised his glass with weak enthusiasm, "I'll drink to that."

And he did a lot of drinking.

He wasn't a lightweight like Cody, but he couldn't negate that the longer he spent with Sheev the more blurred together the minutes became. There were faint recollections of air leaving his throat as laughter, laying his head against rough cloth as he was given more vodka, and thinking maybe Sheev wasn't that much of a nerfherder.

He hadn't been paying attention to the music playing in the background. It was sort of just there: diving into mind but not too deep to be apparent. That remained true until Sheev reacted to one of the songs. He had brightened up and his eyes shined at the classical, slow-paced tune. Standing up from where they were lounging, Sheev offered his hand to Fox. He nearly giggled at how strange the situation was.

"Don't expect anything spectacular," he slurred, stumbling to his feet. He had no clue how Sheev had gotten up so gracefully. Sheev didn't seem as drunk as him, but he shoved the notion away.

Fox grasped onto the hand and was led out to the middle of the room. There was this clearness as soon as he contacted the other man. All his focus had been directed towards him. It was odd, but he didn't mind it when Sheev's palms wandered towards the curve of his hips. He rested his own on Sheev's shoulders. The closer he got to him, the more serene and dazed Fox felt.

"Don't worry. No one is going to know about tonight," Sheev whispered into his ear. His body shivered as the heat tickled against the side of his face.

"Probably best we keep this to ourselves," he agreed, his voice light and shy. His eyelids were heavy, his breathing irregular, and he wanted nothing more than to press up fully against Sheev.

Jango wasn't chosen for his dancing abilities (Fox had other artistic talents, but that was reserved for a tattoo gun or a brush. The symbol of the Senate wasn't exactly easy to paint on his armor.). It didn't help that the shorter person was leading, made it more awkward, but Fox didn't process any of that. He couldn't process anything. He could only register the way they skimmed slowly across the floor, the tightened grip on his waist, their intertwining legs, and how the proximity left something to be desired.

When they stopped, Sheev pulled away from him. Still touching but not as intimate as it should have been in Fox's mind. He let out an internal whine, yet it didn't dawn on him that there was a connection between his thoughts and Sheev moving back up against him. The calm purred in his head as he sunk into the embrace.

"My father taught me that dance," lips grazed against his throat. In other circumstances, he would've shoved the perpetrator away, but instead, he wrapped his arms around Sheev's neck as he brought him even closer.

Fox threw his head back, whimpering as his jugular was nipped, "He taught you well."

He felt the vibrations of laughter against his neck, "Yes, I suppose he did. He was an otherwise arrogant and inept man."

"I see you don't want to carry out his legacy."

Force, he needed this. He wanted this and there was no part of him trying to pry itself from the inner prison of his mind. Every single atom in his body energized as he pushed Sheev onto the couch. The second they were apart was torture so he was quick to attach himself to the man. Hands clasped his thighs while he straddled his partner. Fox worked on blemishing every inch of Sheev's neck.

"He based his power on the obedience of those around him. Wasting money and time on the sentiments of others and nev-," he moaned as a result of Fox biting hard enough to draw blood,"-never once looking at himself. My mother and siblings fell for it, but he loathed my disrespect."

Red stained Fox's lip and tongue as he lapped at the stream. Pressing crimson kisses up and down, he muttered, "He sounds like a shabuir."

His comment caused Sheev to chuckle and, _fuck_ , he trembled when he felt a pressure move from his thighs to his crotch plate.

Gentle pants escaped while he ground against the palm, "You have siblings?"

"Had. I cut myself off from my family when I entered politics."

"It must be a lonely existence," he went still. As he gazed into the other's eyes, he couldn't comprehend why all he felt was apathy.

"Not as lonely as some might think," Sheev undressed the clone with his eyes. He obtained immense joy in the idea of ruining Fox's mind, body, and soul. The clone was lightly huffing, beads of sweat slinking down his forehead, and nothing was more rewarding than the shattering of his composure.

He joked, "People are often forced to be around me."

Fox tapped his head against Sheev's, "I'm sure they enjoy your company."

"I can tell," he got rid of the distance and Fox was eager to comply.

The first few seconds were blissful. Lips dominated his own. He leaned into the man, the crusted blood on his mouth being licked off, as he moaned his name. The calm was telling him how much he craved the possibility of the man being inside of him.

_Don't you want everyone to know who owns you?_

He whimpered out a chorus of confirmation to the condescending, imaginary voice. The dream was eradicated when he sensed his utility belt being tugged at. This was when he finally perceived his surroundings: the blood on his face and the chapped, disgusting lips of the Chancellor. They were coarse and thin and gross and why in the _everloving fuck_ was there blood on his face? He was making out with the Chancellor, his boss, and he didn't remember how he had gotten to that point. It was going way past his comfort level.

Fox loathed the Chancellor. Palpatine was corrupt, power-hungry, and manipulated the senators to reap benefits for himself. He was a crusty, old man, and Fox was not attracted to older men. He wasn't Cody or Keeli, but at least their partners looked amazing for their ages. The Chancellor was ugly as a Hutt. He forced down the bile as Palpatine continued slobbering on his mouth.

The Chancellor detected Fox's shift after he had tensed up. Fox pushed the Chancellor away from him as gentle as he could. He didn't want to upset him enough to get decommissioned. He steadied himself on the floor, picked up his helmet from the table, and separated himself fully from Palpatine. Fox collected himself before speaking sternly, "I thank you for your hospitality, but I should leave."

"Why don't you stay?" He asked it with delicate, soft poise. Fox could sense under the request Palpatine assumed he would do exactly as he wanted. The calm was pounding in him, trying to make him submit, but he wrenched away from its hold.

Fox rubbed the blood off his face and cringed at the already formed crust. He turned towards the exit, starting to walk out when he peered back, "I wish you a good night, Chancellor."

He could've sworn he'd seen the man sneering out of the corner of his eye, but he continued his stride despite it. He had been a di'kut.

Where would he have been if his will had been strong enough?

He froze a few steps away from the door. His helmet slipped from his fingers, a resounding thump as it hit the floor, and he stared blankly at his freedom. His body was shaking and he was beating against the confinement with desperation. The sound of the slow roll of his dropped helmet was joined by footsteps.

"The Force guided me to you. It would be a waste not to listen."

Hands flowed from the small of his back to his chest and suddenly Palpatine was in front of him. His gaze was lecherous, soaking in every quiver of the suspended clone. The wound on his neck had disappeared, but the gore remained like it was a badge of honor and conquest. Palpatine brought his hand up to cup Fox's chin, tilting his head down to look at him. He tried to destroy the walls in his mind, but Palpatine's influence was too strong.

He tutted at the clone, "Do you know how handsome you are? So different from your brothers, but-," his fingers brushed over Fox's abdomen,"-there are _favorable_ similarities."

It all happened in flashes: attempting to sever ties, collapsing onto a plush bed, the stinging rough entrance of fingers, gripping bed sheets, arching his back with a thrust, spasming when he was released directly into, and the kisses trailing up and down his stomach while tears brimmed.

And it was repressed because that was what his mind had been trained to do.

Lock down.

Move on.

Don't be hindered.

The only reminder would be the whisper of touch on his skin that he couldn't grasp the meaning of.

It should've been left at that, another repressed memory, but the remnants of that night were undeniable when the blood of another vod stained his hands and disembodied laughter rang in his ears. He had never been more appalled than when he realized what Palpatine was using him for. That he had used him for years without his knowledge as he groomed him for this position.

Everyone knew the supposed deserter had been murdered by him. They kept quiet because they were afraid of what would happen if they spoke up, but Thorn never could keep opinions to himself. He had confronted Fox and confirmed that he knew too much.

Just like Cyto.

And, just like Cyto, he was dealt with. Not by Fox, and he was thankful for that part only, but by a mission Palpatine knew he would never come back from. Thorn was dead and he had died hating Fox. Another of his vod'ika had marched on, but it was different from Ponds and Keeli because it had been entirely his fault.

He secluded himself from the Guard so he couldn't hurt anyone else he cared about. Fox wore the mask of the emotionless, flesh droid who lived solely to serve the Republic and its Supreme Chancellor. He became agitated when he wasn't able to throw himself into work (He became agitated when he couldn't cover up his anguish with a pile of paperwork and feign normalcy.). The rest of the Guard accepted his detachment because no one wished to be around the vod killer. It was for the best that they despised him.

There had been a brief period where he had thought everything would end up fine. Training the new medic, Cyto's replacement, had filled him with hope. He had been able to take off the mask in front of the shiny and they opened up in his presence. The vod sought him out because they had noticed how malnourished he was and would bring rations from the mess hall to his office. Palpatine didn't approve of how close he had gotten to the vod. Palms were burnt into his skin so he would never forget who he belonged to as if that was going to be a problem. He cut off from the shiny and it destroyed him, but he was relieved that he hadn't been forced to take his life. Palpatine had brought it up, but he begged by proving his loyalty to him and him alone. The shiny meant nothing to Fox.

He wasn't surprised when the Empire took over. The whispers and taunts of a maniac had been a constant in the months prior to the fall. The Jedi Purge had been more of a shock, but he had inferred something along those lines would happen after going over what Fives had been reported to say before he had killed him. Palpatine, in his growing devotion to wooing Fox properly, had allowed him to choose a youngling to be spared so they could become an Inquisitor. It was selfishness that made him pick the child with the golden, amber eyes so similar to those of his vod'ika.

He pushed Skywalker to the edge a few weeks into Palpatine's rule. They both knew he had forgotten to tell his men about what the new dar'jetii looked like on purpose. Fox wanted the other man to die. They both deserved to be punished for their involvement in the rise of the Empire. Skywalker was one of the reasons his vode were running around like droids for an empire that had demanded they kill their friends and family. He hadn't listened to Fives, but he had blindly followed the words of the Chancellor. Fox's failure was used as a coverup for the true motive behind the death sentence: Skywalker blamed him for the death of his ex-padawan. It wasn't the first time his neck had been snapped, but it was the only time he had passed out immediately instead of suffocating out of awareness. He welcomed death with open arms and a heavy heart.

\------

Very few people remembered the veiled figure with flowing, intricate, grey robes who showed up after Fox had died. Those who had seen her, as they had assumed, recalled the cold fortitude and silent commands. The nameless, faceless, mute bride of the Emperor was far more intimidating than anyone else in the Empire. They didn't need violence to strike fear into their subordinates. Their glare, hidden behind a cloth, could be felt from across a room. There was an emptiness to their stare. It scared people more than the prospect of being Force-choked by Darth Vader because at least he showed hints of having a soul. However, what frightened people the most was how their robes curved over a swollen abdomen: the heir of the empire had been secured. While the figure was not common knowledge, the heir was.

To those in opposition to the new government, the Empress posed a possible threat. No one knew who they were or where they had come from. They could only wonder what type of person would marry and carry the child of a man like Palpatine. Never once did they think that the veiled figure also had no idea. They didn't think about how the bride was not just faceless to the people around them but to themself as well. That the sole reminder they were alive and human was the movement of their child. But, with each passing day, they gained back another part of themself they had lost to the Emperor. Obtaining their humanity and memories bit by bit until they could once more recognize the person in the mirror.

Weeks after he had died, Fox woke up.

The grasp on him was slipping, so when he saw his opportunity. 

He took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a mostly happy fic. I promise.


	2. High-Speed Chase

The first memory Fugue had was of light blinding him as he tried to make sense of the sterile, white room he was in. While bound to a table with kaminii poking and prodding him, he remembered one crucial detail: he was a clone. In those early months, there wasn't much else than the basics he must've been taught when he was younger. Ingrained so deeply they came across as second nature.

Sanitation detail wasn't as bad as it could have been. It wasn't as closely monitored as the cadet training so abuse of power was prevalent, yet he felt it was better than before General Ti had arrived. That still didn't change how they were treated the worst out of any group. He saw the mistreatment even more so than his other vod because he was one of the medics of sanitation detail. He, a recently wiped clone with no prior medical experience who had been flash trained for only a week and a half, was supposed to handle emergencies. They were all reconditioned so they weren't worth the effort of being kept alive by any professional.

So it was understandable that Fugue was intrigued by the idea of getting deployed. However, he could infer that he had been sent out before. Despite being one of the youngest wiped clones, he would have been sixteen or older when he was reconditioned. Deployment intrigued him, but it also terrified him. He didn't want to make another mistake, even if he couldn't recall what he had done before, because a clone was never reconditioned twice.

He was ecstatic to find out he was going to become the medic for the Coruscant Guard in spite of the circumstances surrounding his employment. For one, he knew fewer medics were being sent out and troopers were being killed faster than they could be replaced. Cadets were being pushed to the front regardless of how experienced they were in order to fill the gap.

Fugue hoped the Guard would accept him. He may be clueless about the crime he had committed in order to get reconditioned, but he believed he had to have been horrible in his previous life. His drive to make up for his buried faults was what made him decide to help his new commander.

Among other things.

Like he had wished, the Guard had welcomed him and it was nice to be part of a family. Yet there was someone ostracized from the group. He finished his training under Commander Fox who everyone strived to stay away from for a reason unknown to him. Stone warned him so he would do the same; Fox was a vod killer. He could've seen it at the beginning of his transition to the Guard. His fellow clone had been stone cold and distant during their treks around the city. He spoke every word with purpose and a harsh, strident tone. A threatening yet hypnotizing aura surrounded him and it required every bit of his restraint to look away.

Then everything changed after Fox had proved he was human under the frigid plastoid. The man with the broken, lonely eyes and gaunt face didn't resemble an aruetii to Fugue. He could pick a cold-blooded killer out of a crowd and Fox wasn't anything like the wiped vod he had interacted with. It was actually pretty great being around Fox. He listened to what Fugue had to say and let him rant about the faint memories he was regaining. Nothing was better than the genuine happiness Fox expressed whenever he smiled or laughed and it didn't hurt that he was easy on the eyes as well.

He wanted to know what he had done wrong because out of nowhere Fox started avoiding him. It hurt to lose his friend and confidant, but he didn't let it keep him down. Fugue had other people who cared about him even if they weren't quite as special to him as Fox had been.

Being a reconditioned clone had never isolated him from any of the other members of the Guard until he found himself watching in horror as the men he had bonded with for months disappeared. The process used to reset a clone deactivated their chip, so while his vode relinquished their individuality he had to play along. He was no longer a medic as they weren't needed in the Empire, but he still wasn't a shock trooper so he wasn't involved in the murder of Jocasta Nu. All the troopers that had been sent with Darth Vader had been killed by his hand, but what he cared about most was that Fox had been there as well.

He was dead.

Fugue couldn't react to the news outwardly because it would reveal his chip wasn't working. They had been declared traitors and a clone did not cry when a traitor was dealt with. Inwardly, he was falling apart at the actuality of Fox dying trapped in his own body like so many of their vode. Hours during the sleep cycle spent staring into the bottom of the upper bunk as his sanity gave out under his burdens. Fox's death had been a tipping point. He had gone numb, robotically going about his days, which made him blend in better but he didn't know how much longer he had until he fully cracked. He had seen other wiped clones go crazy as their past and present fought, leaving a scarcely breathing carcass in their wake. No matter what he did he would forfeit the last hints of self he had.

Having come to terms with this he was more than surprised when he ended up on the receiving end of a blaster. However, he was far more surprised by who was aiming the weapon at him. Every aspect of their stance was alert and waiting for an attack, yet the clothes they wore were more in line with lounging: sweatpants, baggy shirt, and boots. Frankly, Fugue wasn't paying attention to those details because Fox was in front of him, and by some miracle he was alive.

\------

Running away from vode wasn't anything new for either of the clones, but the situation was definitely grimmer than the previous occurrences. Their own footfalls were being drowned out by the horde behind them and he was just thankful they hadn't decided to shoot at the trio yet. They would probably miss because the vision in the helmets was complete garbage, but sometimes they hit their target. Fox wasn't expending the same mercy and every second or so another pursuer would drop limply to the floor. The blaster was on stun and it reinforced Fugue's notion that Fox would never willingly kill a brother. If he could not do it in a situation where it was justified, he most likely couldn't do it at all.

Neither of them were going as fast as they could have been going. He had no clue why Fox was so out of breath, but he inferred it had something to do with a stomach injury. His hands kept gravitating toward his stomach every time he grimaced in pain. The backpack he had slung over his shoulder probably didn't help either, so Fugue was staying at Fox's pace which was still incredibly quick don't get him wrong. It wasn't like Fox was the only one being weighed down. He was reminded of this as someone pressed their face into the crook of his neck while they whimpered.

That brought his attention to the third member of their recently formed party: the youngling. He had assumed all of the Jedi younglings had been killed during the purge, but the Nikto child in his arms proved otherwise. Fox had given him a brief introduction to the girl when they began their attempt to get off Coruscant. The child's name was Pounamu and she was a little over three years old which wasn't that much to work off of, but they had been bombarded in the middle of the discussion so he could excuse the haste.

The unplanned path they had taken brought them to a shipyard and Fugue sensed that both of them were searching desperately for anything to board. They weaved through the workers and, surprisingly, not many were fazed by the helmetless stormtrooper and his two companions. The civilians were more concerned by the troopers making a ruckus. During his swift glance back, he observed the troopers being cut off from them with the incoming crowd.

"Over there," Fox shouted over the cacophony of the yard, pointing to an abandoned cargo ship with an open ramp. If the ship didn't start up, they would be screwed but they had to try. There were no other options.

Fox ushered Fugue and Pounamu up the ramp as he downed the troopers the closest to reaching them. No inhabitants were on the ship, thank the manda, and they all rushed to the front after Fox had sealed them inside. Fugue set Pounamu down in the co-pilot's chair while Fox handed her the bag. She clenched on to it with such ferocity and determination he almost forgot that she was a toddler. 

He didn't notice that Fox had been hijacking the vehicle until they started moving. He gripped onto the back of the pilot's chair where Fox was now situated. Fugue and Fox visibly relaxed once they had pulled out of the yard into the stream of the city. Then Fugue realized Fox was going further into Coruscant instead of leaving, moving through the speeders much like they had the workers. He trusted Fox but that couldn't stop the increased heart rate and darting eyes.

"Do you know how to fly?" Fox asked, eyes never diverging from what was in front of him.

" _No_ ," Fugue breathed out in disbelief. What in the hell was he plotting?

He sighed, peeking towards Fugue, "I need you to get rid of the tracker, so _listen_ to me." When Fox saw Fugue nodding in agreement, he turned his attention back at the traffic, "Under the controls, there is a panel. Push into it and then let go to open it."

Fox motioned to the area with his head and Fugue scrambled to find the panel. He lay between two sheets of metal, the floor and the bottom of the controls, as he surveyed for a panel above him. His examination was halted momentarily when the ship jerked up causing him to slam his head against the panel he was looking for. It left him disoriented, spots speckling his vision, but it also resulted in it opening.

"Got it open," he mumbled, rubbing his forehead which had gone sharp with pain.

They swerved once again and he braced against the walls surrounding him. This time he could hear the plasma shots Fox was trying to avoid. The Empire had caught up with them. Fear trickled down into his body as he recognized their slim chance of getting off of Coruscant alive.

" _Focus_ ," Fox instructed as he noticed the pause, "They are not going to hit us. It's a scare tactic." His calm was eerie and it left a sick feeling in the pit of Fugue's stomach.

"Why wouldn't they shoot us down?" Fugue asked in exasperation. This whole situation was sinking through the cracks of plausibility and, yeah, he was a little confused and scared.

"I stole something from Palpatine and he needs it back. They wouldn't risk it."

Fox was confident in his statement. Fugue didn't know how he felt about what Fox had said, but his thoughts wandered to the backpack. He pondered over what could be within it that would warrant Palpatine not desiring to immediately get rid of them. The bigger question was why did Fox decide to take the unknown item? Was it to ensure their safety or was there some hidden rationale he wasn't seeing?

Fox continued, "Behind the biggest bundle of wires is a square chip and I need you to pull it out." He didn't fail to detect the hiss Fox let out after he had finished the order. The injury was acting up, but Fox was trying to maintain his composure. Vode pretending they were fine when they obviously weren't was the worst part about being a medic.

Fugue slipped from reflection to do as he had been guided. Above him were singular wires, groupings of wires, twisty wire, straight wires, red wires, black wires, and just too many damn wires. He was able to discern the biggest clump was the bunch of blue. It was larger than his hand and had been adhered to the ceiling by a silver coil. He shoved his hand between the wire and the back of the panel. Feeling against the bumps of the plate, he found one side of the chip before ripping it out.

He alerted Fox, "I got the tracker."

Fugue heard beeping as he pushed himself out from under the controls and by the time he stood up he heard the whoosh of hyperspace. The sight that met his eyes was enough to make him smile as he leaned into the back of Fox's seat. Blurry celestial objects bolted past them for they were no longer on Coruscant. Shining like the lights he had first woken up to, yet they represented freedom instead of captivity.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere far away from Coruscant," Fox slumped into his seat, kneading his face, while Pounamu grinned into the backpack. Fox sounded exhausted. His adrenaline had run dry, but he still turned to Fugue and Pounamu to ask," Are you two okay?"

He waited for Pounamu to shake her head up and down before answering, "Yeah. You?" It astonished him that, in spite of his own injuries, Fox cared more about him and Pounamu.

"I'm good," but his breathing was unsteady, his hands straining as they gripped onto the seat, and he looked like he was about to pass out.

"Can I see your injury now?"

Fox seemed offended by his question. Well, it did come across as more of a demand but that's because it was.

He huffed, "I'm not injured." His case wasn't helped by the low groan that escaped his mouth. His eyes widened at the noise, for he had been startled by his inability to hide his discomfort. He released a soft exhale as he admitted defeat, "That didn't sell it."

Fugue shook his head, sporting a disappointed look, "Not even close." He glimpsed over at the youngling, "Will you tell me what happened?"

He acknowledged the glare he received from her. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He was broken out of the thought quickly.

" _Don't_ bring her into this," Fox stood, growling into Fugue's face. Fugue did not expect such a protective response and neither had Fox. He mellowed out once he realized Fugue was cowering away. While avoiding eye contact and bowing his head in shame, he asserted, "I'm fine."

"Ba'vodu," Pounamu scolded as she got up from her seat. She made sure the backpack was comfortable on the chair before going on to glare at him with the twin fury of the one she had given Fugue. She hit Fox with the same stubbornness he had exhibited. Wait, did she remind him of Fox?

No; there was a faint memory tickling his fingers of carding through tangled hair and the soft touch of someone's nape.

But then the word usage registered, "Is she the niece you talked about?" He was surprised Fox's niece was interspecies but, in hindsight, Ima-Gun Di didn't sound like a human name. She was clearly not completely a red Nikto based on the lack of horns and golden eyes, but he didn't automatically assume half-clone.

"Yes, she's my niece," Fox confirmed before joining a stare-off between him and Pounamu.

Watching as a bystander, it had been adorable. Pounamu had copied Fox as he crossed his arms. Fugue thought it was sweet how much she looked up to his ex-commander. She was trying to come off as serious, but the pout destroyed the mood. Fox softened once her bottom lip started quivering. She dropped her act and latched onto Fox's legs causing him to grunt upon impact. Tears leaked while she sniffled, "Tell him."

She was worried about whatever was wrong with Fox and Fugue prayed there were supplies somewhere on the ship.

Stroking the head of his distressed niece, Fox looked Fugue dead in the eyes, "Please tell me you know more about childbirth than you do about piloting."

_Oh shit._


	3. Cuddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you have to reflect on the fact you have put 60k+ words into a crack theory au where Fox is Rey’s other grandparent. Why have I done this?

They had been planet-hopping for six months. Having ended up selling the stolen cargo ship, they had no means of traveling anywhere. The group had an abundant amount of credits, but for the most part, Fugue and Fox had been offering to work in exchange for passage (The credits were the culmination of the ship sale, Fox's personal stash of credits from before the war ended, and what he had stripped from Palpatine. He didn't seem like the type of man to pay child support.). It had been a decent enough operation. Most people pitied the displaced refugees with two children and manual labor was a welcome distraction for Fugue and Fox.

Two weeks was the longest time they had ever stayed on the same planet for, but they were about to beat that record with their current location. Honestly, Fox knew they would be able to dwell here as long as they wanted, yet it would be best to keep moving. Tattoine was one of those planets, but he recognized how much Skywalker loathed the sandy, Hutt-infested world. It was the last place the Empire would search for anything. Which was why they were finding their bearings there, instead of someplace else, before they set off again. Besides, he related to the hatred Skywalker held.

The tavern they were lodging at was hospitable for the most part. As barren as the room they had paid for was, it was much nicer than other places they had resided at or trying to make it on the streets. There was a refresher, a table, two chairs, a bed, and a closet. Technically, it was one chair because the other was being used as a table leg, but they weren't ones to complain. It was still better than the environment Fox grew up in or the environment Fugue believed he had grown up in (Fugue couldn't remember much more than suffocating dread of his face being shoved into a mattress while a trainer bore down on him and the soothing touch of his ori'vod as he told him everything would be fine.).

Fugue, back at the beginning of their journey together, would have offered to sleep on the floor, but they had moved past that point in their relationship. Delivering someone's baby against the wall of a cargo ship and then raising two kids with them really brings you closer. The bed was slightly cramped because two adults, a toddler, and a baby took up quite a bit of space, but on the bright side, it was way more comfortable than the bunks at his old barracks and the stupidass couch in Palpatine's office. The bed had pillows and blankets: the height of luxury.

Pounamu was nuzzled into his back, using him as a glorified stuffed animal, while she rested. Every once in awhile she tightened her grip and wept softly before returning to deeper sleep. He didn't know the full extent of what the Grand Inquisitor had done to her, but it had left her traumatized by more than just the Jedi Purge. Keeli would've maimed him for allowing his daughter to get hurt, but at least she wasn't dead like her crechemates. Fox wished he could've done more during the purge. She had finally come around to Fugue and was even starting to call him ba'vodu. It was good for her to be able to trust and relax around new people. Pounamu was fiercely protective when it came to him and her cousin, but it was pleasant to see it now extended to Fugue as well.

Speaking of his son, he was dozing between Fox and Fugue so he wouldn't roll off in the middle of the night. Fox couldn't wrap his head around how he and Palpatine had created something so innocent. He had done nothing to deserve this bliss because being able to see his child grow up was a concept some of his brothers could only dream of.

He, out of all his aliit, should have never been granted the privilege of being a parent. He had never desired to have a child before. In fact, he didn't have any maternal or paternal instincts to his knowledge. There had been this one time where he had given a young cadet a blaster. They almost shot their foot off, so Fox knew he would make a great buir. It really turned the thought of ever having kids off and made him realize he probably shouldn't be around children. He couldn't follow his vode who talked about how life-changing holding their baby had been. For the first time, their loyalty wasn't for the Republic. In theory, he got it but it just didn't feel right for him. Parenthood, passing down culture from parent to child regardless of blood, was a crucial part of Mandalorian culture, yet it wasn't necessary.

It wasn't until he had carried Pounamu out of the Jedi Temple that he grasped what his brothers had meant. Intuition had kicked in and he wondered if Keeli had felt the same way when he first laid eyes on his ad. Everything had begun to revolve around her and making sure she was safe. The closest comparison was how he felt about his vode, but this was more deep-seated in his instincts. Like fire, it only grew when searing agony was outshone by Fugue handing him his ik'aad.

It was what Fox felt staring at his son as he slept, breathing delicately so as to not wake him. A finger went up to stroke the soft, smooth surface of his son's cheek and, in his slumber, the baby leaned into the touch. The movement was enough to make his heart burst and once again he wondered how he was involved in the creation of something so pure.

The contrasts in their skin, even in the dark, couldn't be ignored. Fox didn't see Palpatine in him, but Fox couldn't deny that he inherited his appearance from his dar'buir. The pale, blue eyes and tufts of auburn hair couldn't have come from Fox's side. That didn't matter though because as far as Fox was concerned Palpatine was a sperm donor at most. The man would have nothing else to do with the child and as long as Fox was alive Palpatine wouldn't even be able to get a glimpse of _his_ son.

His baby.

His little Emory.

"Is it bad to say this is the happiest I've ever been?" Fugue whispered, peering at Fox.

Fox had to stop himself from flinching and instead drew his hand back from the baby's face lightly. He really didn't need Emory waking up right now, but he hadn't realized that Fugue was still awake.

"I think it would be hypocritical if I said it was, but I don't think you have many references," he mumbled back, trying not to stir the children on either side of him. Fugue had let out a faint wheeze but composed himself after Fox glared at him. They shared a dark sense of humor and the hope of Emory not waking every up with his shrieking. The other occupants of the tavern had complained profusely, so they were just one disturbed night away from getting kicked out.

There was a small pause where they took each other in, but then Fugue broke the silence, "This is just like the simulations."

"I don't remember that elective," Fox smirked.

Fugue shook his head, "What a shame because Raising Two Force-Sensitive Children While On The Run was very informative."

"Must've been around the time I took Having Your Boss' Child," and he had to stop himself from laughing at Fugue's bulging eyes. Yeah, that went a little too far.

Fox sighed, "Anything helpful?"

"Sadly, I was wiped specifically so I couldn't tell you," Fugue delivered with humor. However, there was an undertone of remorse. They both longed to be more prepared and equipped for the situation they found themselves in. It had been by chance they had gotten this far.

"I knew the kaminii were out to get me," Fox turned his mouth up in disgust.

Then they were brought back to square one as they stared at each other in silence. Fugue had matured since he had met him: gone was the shiny who glanced away every time they made eye contact. Fox had never been great with sentimentality. He didn't know how to express how grateful he was that Fugue was here and that he wasn't alone in raising Pounamu and Emory.

Fox grabbed Fugue's hand, much to the other's confusion, bringing it up so it rested above Emory's head. He intertwined his fingers with Fugue's, "I'm glad you stayed."

He could sense the heat of blush rising and he was relieved for the darkness surrounding them. Fugue had always been the blusher but here he was unable to do a basic task like thanking someone. But Fugue lit up anyways and, _Force_ , Fox could do nothing but smile back. Fugue slowly pushed his head forward and waited to see if Fox would react. Fox reciprocated, permitting them to press their foreheads together. Fox realized then that there was no one he would have chosen over Fugue. The other man meant so much to him. More than he would know.

He squeezed Fox's hand, " _Good_ because I'm going to keep on following you," and Fox believed him.

\------

Fox jolted awake feeling frantically at the sheets surrounding him as it dawned on him there was no one else there. Panic was rising inside of him and taking over his thoughts as his breathing deregulated. The inner part of him was screaming and worrying over where his babies were. He wrapped his arms around his empty abdomen as a sob wracked through him. He was unable to keep them safe. He was a failure. What had he done?

_Pathetic_.

It was the cold tone he had become so accustomed to and tears tracked down as an invisible mouth slid down his throat. He repeatedly smacked against the sides of his head upon hearing Palpatine's voice as he tried to get him out. Fox couldn't go through it again. He would rather die so he hoped to bash at his head until it caved in. His family was what he lived for, but they had left him. As they should have because they didn't deserve a monster like him. He had screwed everything up. It was just him and Palpatine.

This was his punishment.

He couldn't do this.

He couldn't...

He...

Then the outside light registered and he turned to see Pounamu sitting on top of the unstable table with Emory in her lap. Fugue was attempting to feed the fussy infant who seemed far more interested in gnawing at his own chubby hands.

He breathed out a sigh of relief. Everyone was okay, but water still stubbornly flowed and burned his eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. They didn't need to deal with his problems, but Fugue still looked at him in concern. He had noticed the anguish Fox exhibited as he had woken up.

He mouthed, "I'm fine," but Fugue hadn't been convinced.

Fugue wasn't able to push it further as the baby food container exploded and covered his face in green goo. He exhaled heavily before picking up the towel he had placed next to Pounamu just in case this exact scenario happened. Fox snorted as Emory squealed in delight at Fugue's mess and even Pounamu couldn't help but smile. Fox remembered how his stomach had dropped the first time Emory had used the Force, but he was so used to it by now he barely noticed it (He had feared it would aid Palpatine in finding them.).

As Fugue rubbed the food off, he interrogated Emory, "Are you going to do this every time I try to feed you?"

The response he got was Emory saying, "Bu," over and over again as his arms wiggled out for Fugue.

Fugue set the dirtied rag down as he booped Emory's nose causing his son to giggle and attempt to grab at the finger. He pouted when he failed. Rolling his eyes, his face still soft and affectionate, Fugue picked the baby up.

Fox got up and walked over to Fugue, noticing a remnant of baby food at the corner of his mouth. He just walked up to him in a daze: not registering how close he had gotten. He rubbed the debris away, "You didn't get it all."

But his face was centimeters from Fugue's. Fox felt the stuttered air leaving Fugue's lips and Fox was still cupping his cheek. He observed pupils dilating as he drifted closer to the other clone. His hand found itself set on the hip opposite to where his son was. They focused on each other solely, yet neither of them moved. Both were afraid of what would happen if they did.

In a gentle voice, Fugue asked, "Can I kiss you?"

It was what Fox had been waiting for, so he closed the distance. Fugue didn't shut his eyes for a second in shock, but he was quick to relax into the kiss. It was incredibly chaste, lips touching lips and nothing else, yet Fox didn't feel like he needed more. This tender embrace was more fulfilling than any sexual act he had ever performed. His lips were gentle and there was no greed like the last pair that had graced his. It was _perfect_.

They had to stop once Emory began hitting him in the jaw, but he was satisfied by seeing how flushed Fugue was when he pulled away.

He applied a big, fat smooch to the bridge of his baby's nose, "Are you jealous?"

Emory cooed at the endearment which caused Fox to beam at the infant. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pounamu hop off the table and join in on the gathering. He perceived the adoration Fugue held toward him and _their children_. Love that he had earned. Love that was mutual. Fuck, this was so domestic. What a sight this would've been, Commander Fox domesticized, but he didn't care. For the first time in his life, he was truly happy and surrounded by people that loved him.

So he held his family close.

And he would never let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is better than domestic fluff and that is a fact.


	4. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this fic and are reading this through my Tumblr link: PLEASE REBLOG It would be much appreciated.
> 
> My Tumblr is @iputtheaceindisgrace
> 
> This chapter came out a little late, but WARNING there is violence.

He hated looking at it, but sometimes he would catch a glimpse and find himself staring for a few, dazed minutes. To him, the scars were the sole, visual indication of the time he had spent by Palpatine's side. Nothing instilled more revulsion in him than the two, palm-shaped marks distorting his abdomen. A constant reminder about what would happen if he crossed the line Palpatine had so diligently set.

There was a shiny, waxy quality to them and, when he picked up the courage to touch, discovered it to be rough and coarse. His hands were larger than Palpatine's so if he placed them correctly the scars would disappear, but he couldn't keep them there forever. It only ended in his stomach swirling in disgust at his own arrogance. Faint stretch marks were sewn haphazardly into the burn and he recalled when they were an itching red. He had been branded right before his body started offering perceptible hints as to what was happening inside of him. As his stomach swelled, his scars strained. The growth had resulted in an unrelenting scorched sensation which, while he did get used to it, had left him spending a lot of time curled up in agony.

He was brought to musing over his marred torso because, like so many times before, he had glanced at it on accident. In the refresher of their current lodging, he was eyeing the scars in the reflection of the sink mirror. They painted a picture of someone standing behind their partner as they settled their hands above where their baby was developing. The mark was territorial, so it was by no means protective or caring like the gesture usually would have been.

Fox noticed Fugue walking up behind him when he saw a flash of the three tattooed lines across the bridge of his nose. The other man wrapped his arms around his midsection. The warmth brought him out of his detestation, so he leaned back into the embrace. He was eased by lips nestling against his nape as he placed hands over Fugue's. Fugue had first felt guilty about the origin of the burn marks. He still did, but it had lessened once Fox had explained the entire situation. Palpatine was going to mar him anyway: Fugue was an excuse.

But he loved Fugue and he was relieved he could finally put a name to the feeling he had experienced for months. Romance was unfamiliar to him (This registered when they exchanged their vows while Fox was giving Emory a bath. Fugue was actually the one to propose it which surprised him. What about that situation made him think: I need to marry this person right now? Fox genuinely wanted to know.). Romance hadn't easily flourished in their position, yet he deeply enjoyed these fleeting moments. Even in the silence, contact was enough for both of them. Calm was as rare as their opportunities to be romantic with two kids and the Empire looming over their every move.

None of that mattered as he sunk into the trance of skin against skin. Comfort and tranquility were being relished by both of the men. As Fugue pulled his lips away, Fox turned his head to meet them in order to savor him for a few seconds more. Fugue obliged, grinning as he did so, and Fox couldn't believe he had lived the majority of his life oblivious to the other clone's existence. He may not have known who Fugue was back then, but he knew who he was now.

From this angle, the scars were gone.

\------

"Po-nuh-moo," Fox watched in amusement as Pounamu enunciated and drew out every syllable of her name. She had been going at it for the last minute or so.

The group of four was sitting in a booth in the "diner" section of the tavern they were dwelling at. Fugue sat next to Fox, also amused but hiding it better, and Emory was situated on Fox's lap. Pounamu was on the other side of the table from the trio and she seemed to be enjoying the extra legroom. It wasn't very often where any of them were granted alone time, so this would have to suffice. They were all done eating, but they were luxuriating in the time they had before the ship they were boarding left the planet.

Emory seemed to grasp the effort Pounamu was putting into making him say her name, but he fell a bit short in his execution.

"Moo!" He happily exclaimed, clapping his hands.

Pounamu burst out with the deepest, most disappointed groan he had ever heard as she planted her forehead onto the table with a soft thunk. Fox was physically pained by how much she acted like Keeli when he was cadet, but he chuckled at her response in spite of the remembrance. Fugue was having about the same outward reaction, yet he was covering it up with a cup of caf.

She set her arms under her chin once she realized how splintered the wooden table was. The side of her face squished as she rested against the faux pillow, "Why can't he say my name?"

"He can't exactly say my name either," Fugue offered, but Pounamu didn't stop frowning.

Fox would've said something but he had to focus on Emory when he started using the ledge of the table to push himself up into an upright position. He wobbled slightly because Fox's legs weren't the most stable surface to stand on, but he caught himself without any help. With brazen feet, Emory trekked over to Fugue but it was more along the lines of Fox handing him over to his riduur. However, he still let their son do the majority of the work. Fugue set his caf down before catching Emory who seemed pretty proud of himself for his little adventure.

"Briikase gote'tuur," Fugue whispered as he pressed his forehead against Emory's.

Patting the cheeks in front of him, Emory babbled, "Bu." The word was enough to turn Fugue all shy and misty.

"It's the thought that counts, Pounamu. He's still just a baby," Fox explained offhandedly for he and Pounamu were both concentrating on the dewy-eyed clone. Pounamu had softened; she had noticed Emory walking and he didn't know how to explain the emotion he got when he saw the devotion she had to her cousin. He loved his kids so much.

It was Emory's first birthday. As a clone, he had never before celebrated a birthday or decant day. The date of when he was decanted, along with his batchmates, was known but it was just another day among hundreds. He felt obligated to do something special, but he believed that Emory's day had already been made. Hopefully, when his next birthday came around they would be in a safer spot.

But, then again, calm was temporary.

Fox hadn't been paying attention to the door when it first opened, but when he heard the familiar tone of armor hitting the floor he scanned for the newcomer. A Mandalorian had entered the tavern in black beskar'gam with red accents and, judging by the way they were scanning the place, they were searching for someone.

Fugue came to the same conclusion as he had, so he pointedly gazed at Pounamu. She reacted as they had taught her to. "I need to go to the 'fresher," she muttered to Fugue.

"This little guy needs to be changed, so I'll go with you," he picked up Emory and the backpack they had positioned next to the end of the booth. The action looked as normal as any other. All of their possessions were in the bag at all times in case they needed to make a break for it such as now.

Fox grabbed Fugue's hand and squeezed, "I'll catch up." Fugue looked unsure, but he continued with Pounamu and Emory out the door. The Mandalorian took notice of them as they left, but he didn't follow them. Instead, his helmet turned to Fox and it confirmed his suspicions.

It was just him and the bounty hunter.

They sidled up into the spot where Pounamu had been sitting moments before and Fox's mouth curled in disgust. They drawled in Mando'a," _Commander Fox. According to my employer, you're supposed to be dead."_

" _Didn't stick_ ," he retorted in the same language, staring the man down. This attempt at polite conversation was scratching him the wrong way. He was quick to secure the concealed blaster on his person, but he wouldn't reveal it until necessary.

" _Well, snapping someone's neck usually does it. I'm surprised you're able to walk_."

He didn't like the accusatory tone, but it sounded familiar. It sounded a lot like him. He wouldn't have assumed he was a vod if not for the voice. The beskar'gam he wore was unmistakably Mandalorian in origin and showed no signs of being a trooper's.

" _You're a brother_ ," Fox declared. His theory was confirmed by the way the other clone flinched.

They snarled, " _I'm no brother of a traitor_." If his helmet had been off, Fox would've clearly seen him baring his teeth.

" _A traitor works for the one who has enslaved our family_ ," Fox countered.

" _Palpatine may be the one who employed me, but I am not working for him_."

Fox could sense the other clone's chip was deactivated. He wouldn't have been able to speak of Palpatine so disdainfully otherwise, but then why was he doing this of his own free will? Then he slowly realized something crucial. He wasn't a traitor to this clone because he had left. He was a traitor because he was a vod killer. That would justify this in the eyes of tradition.

The man continued, " _He wants you back alive and for me to return what you have stolen. But, you see, he didn't specify what that was_."

He was playing it like he knew exactly what Fox had taken. Fox couldn't tell if he was fibbing or if he had actually figured it out. Either way, he wouldn't offer any evidence.

" _I didn't steal anything from him_ ," Fox defended himself. It would've been taken as the truth if the person were any different, but he believed this cold bastard was too analytical to be left alive.

The bounty hunter treated the situation like it was a puzzle he needed to solve but reveled in the fun of, " _You have two children with you. Pounamu Di is the elder, right? Some might assume the second was another Jedi youngling, but they are far too young to have been alive before the Jedi Purge_."

Fox tensed his hand around the trigger. His heart was dropping as the man steadily proved he understood the situation far better than Palpatine had wanted him to. The rhetorical question was basically to boast and threaten; he knew exactly what he was doing.

" _Do you know how rare blue eyes with auburn hair is_?"

As soon as the smug words had ceased, Fox raised the pistol above the table. The other man had a similar idea and he could hear the rising murmur of the customers around them. He growled in Basic to the onlookers, gazing into the barrel of a blaster, "Get out."

It did the trick as a scurry of about a dozen people left the building: it was truly just him and the bounty hunter now.

" _I thought Palpatine wanted me back alive_ ," Fox's voice was pitiless and stern. He steadied his breathing, for he couldn't show weakness or the man would shoot him. He couldn't afford hesitation. He didn't have the protection the other man had and he had more to lose.

" _I thought I told you I wasn't working for him_."

The man had no idea he was Emory's buir which was preferable but not as important as what he had already found out. He had deduced Emory was what Palpatine needed to sustain his Empire long after his own death; an indisputable heir had to inherit the title. He prayed Fugue had gotten Pounamu and Emory far away from there.

When the hunter jumped up from the booth, Fox aimed for his heart and fired. His instincts had kicked in and adrenaline was coursing through him, but the other man dodged. It hit the middle of his right arm, his shooting arm, yet he flexed his hand. This contradicted the gaping hole where his elbow was. Fox could make out the wires poking out of the damaged armor: it was a prosthetic. Depending on if there was more, it might be harder to find a weakness. However, the man seemed shocked he had hit him in the first place as if Fox hadn't been a commander for a reason. The man might be underestimating Fox. He could use that.

He didn't have time to question it further before the bounty hunter ran out the door and he had no choice but to pursue. He had been evading the Empire for so long, so he felt weird chasing after it. Nevertheless, even in a dead sprint, he couldn't catch up with the man. He had an unnatural speed in him and Fox could hear his blood rushing in his ears as he pushed himself into going faster.

Fox didn't know when he had lost track of him, weaving around buildings as they had been, but when he realized it his whole world shifted. He kept going, thinking of where his family might've gone, yet there was the dread he was already too late. He ended up dashing towards the shipyard fueled by the image of the burnt corpses of his aliit. This was all his fault. He was a poison on everyone around him, draining them of a more fulfilling life. They wouldn't have found Emory if he had given him up to a stable couple so they could raise him. He was selfish. His baby was going to get hurt because of him.

Upon hearing a terrified wail, he changed his direction to follow it. Emory crying was a distinct noise imprinted deep in Fox's soul, so he was subconsciously drawn to it even if it was his chosen path. Just like he had guessed, they were in the shipyard.

It was an open area: sand being blown and seamlessly mixed with the air surrounding them. He had started blinking uncontrollably as grime entered his eyes. There were four, alive people already when he arrived. Pounamu was holding onto and shoving her face into the back of Fugue's legs. Fox worried about this setting back her progress because this scenario was scarily similar to the Jedi Purge. Fugue was directing a pistol at the bounty hunter. He was bleeding at the temple and it had smeared down his face. Both of them appeared scuffed up with sand in every crevice of their clothes. Fugue didn't even spot Fox, but, by the way he relaxed, Fox discerned he knew he was there.

And then there was Emory. With fat tears streaming down his face, he was screeching and blubbering out small protests of _no_. Fox aiming his blaster once again at the man responsible for his son's pain was a natural response. He wished he hadn't.

Emory was being held up by a singular wrist, so he could only writhe as the man pressed a vibroblade against his neck.

"If you shoot, I'll kill him."

Fugue and he regarded each other before dropping their blasters to the ground and stepped away from them. In no time, the pistols were speckled with sand. Emory's sobs devolved into light sniffles and Fox couldn't breathe because he feared any movement would trigger his son's death. It was also because there was this stubborn lump in his throat that was gradually settling into the rest of his body. He didn't think he blinked during those few seconds where they waited for something, anything, to happen.

The next words from the hunter were shaky but vengeful and passionate, "This is for my brother."

He didn't understand how people talked about time slowing down when they were put in a mortifying situation because everything was bolting past him and he yearned for it to pause.

At the edge of his peripheral vision, he glimpsed Fugue moving towards Emory, but Fox froze: suspended as the weapon against his son's throat was ignited. It was letting out a low buzz and was glowing as bright as an ember. On Coruscant, he had seen a person disembowel another with a single slice effortlessly. He had first-hand experience on the amount of damage a vibroblade could do, so when it was pressed deeper into his son's jugular...

He blanked.

He suffered through the drip of blood spotting his thighs. There was a twist in his gut getting pulled tighter into a numbing ache and his hands compressed against it. Palpatine scolded him, leered at him, for not loving their son enough. His negligence had caused him to miscarry and he thought Palpatine was the cold-blooded one. Fox had been forced to decide between saving the life inside of him and taking the life in front of him. He had been forced to beg for Palpatine to heal the dying fetus: to heal his son.

And it took him back to that instant because it was the closest he had ever come to feeling this desolation.

There was this shrill cry and Fox was distressed by the certainty that the last time he would hear Emory would be him crying in horror. Then he realized that it was him. He doesn't know how the sound left his mouth. It was raw and animalistic, tearing at his voice box. Discord rooted in his being that departed with a harsh reality.

The scream of a parent who has lost their child.

He plummeted to his knees as his son was dropped like a marionette getting its string severed. Covering his mouth as he sobbed, he no longer cared that the bounty hunter was going to kill him. Fox could hear the crunch of sand as the bounty hunter walked towards him. He contemplated whether or not they would use the same blade. The soft tap on his cheek threw him off. Was this a sick joke? His body shook uncontrollably in anger and sorrow, but the touch persisted. He peered upwards, eyes ablaze, and saw his son: his son who had never seen his buir cry and fall apart before. There was a cauterized wound across his neck and his arm was hanging limply at his side, but other than that he was fine.

His baby was _alive_.

He wanted nothing more than to embrace Emory, but his arm needed to be dealt with first. Fox didn't want to hurt him, so he set the elbow back in place as quickly as he could. His ad whimpered but no tears joined the ones already crusted over. Lifting up his son, who clenched onto his shirt, he went to scrutinize the bounty hunter.

Fox was bewildered the man had yet to attempt to escape, for he only stood there. He must've flung off his helmet after he had let go of Emory because it was yards behind him in the hazy distance. He didn't have many defining characteristics other than the three metal circles on either side of his head that poked out where hair should've been.

The man looked as if he was ashamed in himself.

\------

There were times Echo got lost in the numbers. Back when he had Crosshair, Tech, Wrecker, and Hunter, they would reel him back in if he dived too deep. That all changed when he was suddenly on his own. When he had gotten his first bounty, he uncovered how much easier it was to separate himself from sympathy and give in to the percentages floating around in his head. It was like blacking out. It made him efficient and people sought him out for it. Only afterward would he be able to regret what he had done, but he could be pulled out in specific circumstances.

Like when Fox had delivered an ungodly shriek.

Yet, today had been a peculiar case. He could disconnect from emotions, but he never strayed from the job. Echo believed this job had split from his usual routine after Darth Vader had dragged him aside after Palpatine had hired him. Did he feel dirty accepting the job? Yes, but Palpatine didn't take no for an answer. In the beginning, the only parts he was knowledgeable about was Palpatine wanting Commander Fox back alive along with what had been stolen from him. It hadn't been until Vader had talked to him that he had learned about Fox killing Fives.

He had never looked into his brother's death. Fives was gone and he couldn't change that, so why dwell over what happened? Echo had left the 501st to move on, but that would be impossible if he stayed in the past.

So he had never known about Fox's involvement.

He had been so infuriated when he had been told the truth: uncharacteristically angry with rage he had never realized he had. It didn't feel like his own anger, but he submitted to it anyway. He granted the unleashed fury inside of him control and he regretted that. Maybe he had willingly gone under Vader's influence because he wanted to get his revenge.

Fives would've hated the man he had become.

In acceptance, he lingered as Fox advanced towards him. He couldn't say he wasn't intimidated by the ex-commander because his mere presence demanded attention and respect. The man had walked through the pits of hell, yet he had the capacity to hold the Emperor's heir with such tenderness. He had mourned the perceived loss of the child. He didn't understand why the gaze Fox gave the boy reminded him of Jesse and Kix. Had Fox adopted the child as his own?

It was when Fox was right in his face that he finally spoke.

"Don't _ever_ touch my son again."

There was a petrifying calm as he spoke. He didn't need to be loud or brutal to threaten those around him and that ability was scarier than anything done to Echo before. It was refined, almost regal, and that was when he recognized Fox hadn't lied to him. Not completely.

Fox hadn't stolen his own child.

He couldn't comprehend his opinion on the matter quite yet, but it was unsettling to think about _why_ Palpatine desired Fox back.

He was going to do the family of four a favor by allowing them to leave. Pounamu looked at him as though he were a monster which he supposed he was and the nameless vod placed an arm around Fox. The vod had fought well. He would bear the burden of not accomplishing his bounty, yet Fox glanced back at him,"What are you waiting for? You're going to tell me everything you know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some scars are mental.


	5. Touch-Starved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a SERIES, so if you want the full story I recommend reading Ad'ike.

They sold the bounty hunter's ship. It had actually been his suggestion. The Empire would be searching for the man who had failed his bounty, so he used the skills he had mastered selling the cargo ship and got rid of the evidence. In the end, Fugue and he talked over the pros and cons of purchasing their own ship. They had discussed the topic before back when Fox had the remnants of baby fat on his torso and Emory's umbilical cord was attached. The risks had outweighed the rewards at that point. It would be easier to track them down if anyone found out the vehicle was theirs, but it would also provide stability and a home.

So they got a ship.

It had three rooms, a kitchen, a refresher, and a living area, so it was more than anything they could have asked for. Fugue, Emory, and he were sharing a room while Pounamu and the bounty hunter had their own. When Emory got older, he and Pounamu would begin sharing, if the bounty hunter was still with them, but for now, the girl was allowed to do with the room as she pleased.

Fugue and he had had their first substantial argument. He preferred not arguing but this was one of the occasions where it felt necessary. Fugue was wondering why they hadn't thrown the bounty hunter out and Fox explained they were going to give him a place to lay low until he could get back on his feet. They needed to give him the benefit of the doubt about the story he had given them. They didn't need to trust him, but they were going to tolerate him. But that didn't mean Pounamu and Emory needed to be anywhere near him. It helped that the bounty hunter was locked in his own room the majority of the time.

He had learned during the interrogation he had put the bounty hunter under that he was called Echo and he was the twin brother of Fives. Which explained why he had been adamant about killing him and destroying what he had stolen.

Except, it didn't.

Based on what Echo had confessed, Skywalker was trying to kill him again. Echo had regretted informing them about how Skywalker found out about Emory because of him. He was oblivious to Fox's role but he nevertheless wished to get rid of Palpatine's heir. He pondered if Skywalker was jealous of Palpatine having a child while he had lost his unborn child and wife or if he had assumed giving Echo his retribution was a form of compassion. Skywalker had always been an enigma to him.

As Echo went further into his account, he discovered Echo had been used as a pawn in order to kill him. It was very similar to how he had been used to get rid of Fives. He couldn't hold the event completely against him because, unlike Fox, he had been able to pull himself out. Echo believed he had given in to the lull of the Force; he believed he wanted vengeance. Yet, Fox didn't think of Echo as a person capable of murdering a child after he had gotten to understand him.

Besides, he owed it to Fives to help his brother.

\------

Fox was often unable to sleep in the middle of the night. The weight of a blanket had remained odd along with a soft mattress and pillow, but he usually found a way to pass the time. Fugue was a deep sleeper on the other hand, so Fox didn't have to fear waking him up as he traced the tattoo on his face. It was one of the simplest tattoos he had ever done: three lines spread across his face right under his eyes but above the tip of his nose. The way it curved and danced over skin was mesmerizing. It might not have been his most intricate work or the one he was most proud of, but it was his favorite.

As he thumbed over the slope of Fugue's cheek, he heard a shifting murmur. He rolled over and was welcomed by the sight of his son escaping his crib in the dark room. The bars had been brought down by what Fox assumed was the Force and he was trying to find a way to reach the floor. Emory wasn't accustomed to sleeping by himself, so the new crib bothered him. Fugue and he woke up to Emory between them a frightening amount of times for a kid who was shorter than the bed. The less frightening occurrences were when Pounamu was also there.

Fox yawned as he got up, making sure Fugue stayed asleep as he did so, before making his way over to the crib. Emory was finally able to touch the ground when he realized his buir was watching him. Instead of moving towards the bed like Fox had thought he would, he headed towards the door. Fox saw no harm in following after the toddling boy.

The door was already ajar so Fox just needed to open it slightly more in order for the two of them could get through. Emory kept looking back to make sure Fox was still trailing behind him. It was when they entered the living area, already lit up, that he realized why Emory wanted him to follow: Echo was sitting at the table drinking caf.

Emory had always had great foresight.

Fox did not share that trait, for he was wishing he had put a shirt on. He was wearing shorts and that was it. A bit underdressed compared to the man wearing the bottom half of his armor with blacks. It was funny to see the difference between someone clinging to the normalcy of their past and someone who had adapted. Well, that and his armor had been destroyed after his flirtation with death. He preferred destruction over Palpatine doing who knows what to his armor.

The moment Echo spotted him, eyes drifted to the palms on Fox's stomach before going up to discover Fox delivering an unimpressed stare. Echo offered an apologetic smile, but it quickly turned into a frown as he looked away. Fox sighed, taking in the sorry vod, and pondered over what Emory had seen at this moment.

Emory shuffled over to where Echo was contemplating his decisions and reached out his arms, "Up."

Neither of the men could compute the bright-eyed child making grabbing motions with his hands at Echo. Fox got a questioning glance thrown his way. Echo was leaning back as far as he could into the chair as Emory pressed on. He was afraid of Emory or, more specifically, of hurting him again. The scar on his neck was terribly visible and permanent. Fox nodded to give Echo the go-ahead. He trusted Emory's instincts. If Emory didn't see any problems with this, there probably weren't any.

Echo picked the child up timidly, scared of breaking him, and placed him on his lap with great care. The man tensed up once Emory snuggled into his shoulder. He loosely held the child against his chest as Emory fell asleep.

"I've never...I've never held a child before," he sputtered upon recognizing Emory was out.

Fox crossed his arms against his chest, condescendingly asking, " _Really_?"

That caused Echo to wince, bowing his head in shame and submission, "Properly, I mean."

The baby in his possession was still coming off as a surprise to Echo. He was clueless as to how he should continue. The child he had branded, much like how Palpatine had branded his buir, was showing him affection. It made Echo realize how long he had gone without it. He pressed his head against the child's in a soft apology. He had no idea what he was going to do to make up for what he had done.

He glanced at Fox and he saw the worry in his eyes as his son lay in the arms of the man who had hurt him. Echo hadn't had a picture in mind for what Fox would act like but it hadn't been this. At most, he had imagined a sinister villain not a scared but caring parent trying to do the best for their son. Dignified in spite of his trauma and maybe he could see why, out of all the clones, Palpatine had fallen in love with Fox. Why Fugue had fallen in love with his riduur.

So he offered what he could, "I can't forgive someone that was just as much of a victim as my brother."

"Then I can't forgive you either," and, just like Echo, he had admitted there was nothing to forgive. Fox didn't stop there, however, as he declared, "You still need to earn my family's trust."

Echo understood. He may not have been in control, but it was difficult to put faith in someone who had held a vibroblade to the neck of a child: pressing into their skin even as they screamed and begged. As long as the scar on Emory's throat remained, the day would be unforgettable.

"I can do that." The least he could do was to prove he was worthy of the time they were spending on him. He knew guilt was driving Fox to kindness, but he wouldn't squander it.

Everyone knew the Emperor was married and that he supposedly should have an heir by now. When he learned Fox was Emory's biological father, it wasn't hard to fill in the gaps. He patted the child's back, eyeing Fox, "No offense, but Fox Palpatine sounds horrible."

Fox chuckled before scrunching his nose, "It does, doesn't it? Palpatine is just a weird name in general."

It had lightened the mood. Echo hadn't joked around in a while and it was nice to do something he used to do so often. He wanted to be himself again.

"Can you tell me more about Fives' death?" He didn't mean to sound as broken as he did. Echo almost choked out a sob when Emory nestled further into his embrace but instead tightened his grip.

Fox softened as he watched his vod fall apart in the embrace, "Skywalker didn't tell you the whole story?" Sounded like what he would do: only tell the parts that benefited him.

"Skywalker?"

"Darth Vader."

"No, he didn't," he could barely hear what Echo had said. The other man was processing what he had heard: his General was alive and had taken part in the enslavement of his vode.

"All he talked about was your involvement," Echo steamed as the entirety of the manipulation settled into him. A man he had depended on, a man he had fought beside, a man he had seen as a vod, and a man as impulsive and kind as his brother had been- 

Echo's blood boiled and he wished to share with Vader the knowledge of what a snapped neck felt like just as Vader had imparted on so many others.

"Fives uncovered the biochip conspiracy and how it was involved with the Jedi Purge. When I killed him, he was attempting to convince Rex and Skywalker. I know Palpatine was looking for loose ends but I don't know if he found any."

He prayed Palpatine didn't find any, but he could see Echo's confusion as he cradled his son.

"How did my brother find out about the biochips?"

Fox had to think back to the grievance report he had watched over a year ago and the report on the circumstances surrounding Fives' death. While most of it was a coverup, there was truth in it. There had been an obscure piece of information, barely mentioned, but he knew it was important, "One of the 501st troopers, his name was Tup I think, his chip malfunctioned and he killed General Tiplar. Fives looked into the situation after the trooper had been transferred to Kamino, but the trooper died once his chip was removed by Fives."

"Tup must've been important to Fives," Echo acknowledged. Fives would have done anything for the people he cared about. To risk his life to attempt to save the trooper's life, he had to be important. He wondered who the trooper he had never met had been and why Fives was drawn to him.

"They were in a relationship."

Echo and Fox swiveled their attention to the man in the doorway. Both wondered how long he had been there. Both wondered how he had spoken his statement as if it was a fact.

"Fugue?" Fox asked. Fugue had been this distraught before when he was forcing himself to remember.

Fugue didn't get his meaning, "I noticed you were out of bed and that Emory was gone."

He took notice of where their son was, registering he was safe, before relaxing barely. His husband was still shaking and it was made worse by Echo joining in, "A relationship?"

His hands were clenched, his teeth gritted together, "Tup always gushed about Fives. I told him he had terrible taste. I believed Fives would never be good enough for him. Based on what Fives did, I assume they got together."

Fives had been good enough.

Echo was in shock. He yearned to know the man his brother had supposedly loved. There was so much he wouldn't know, but his mind barely skimmed the surface of possibility. In this case, he barely skimmed the surface of reality because there was something no one had known and now never would.

Fox ambled towards his riduur so as not to agitate him further. He hoped Fugue could detect his adoration as he squeezed his hands, "Is that all you remember?"

He had coaxed Fugue through these episodes before and he would do it again for long as need be.

"How could I forget Tup?" Fugue lamented. Fox was familiarized with what would happen when Fugue remembered. He would get angry at himself for forgetting in the first place even though it wasn't remotely his fault. Damn the Kaminoans.

"My name was Dogma," he admitted. Fox loathed the hatred his riduur held for himself. Fox loathed the way he trembled as his past and present collided like so many of their reconditioned vod.

Fox tried to comfort, "Cyare." He couldn't lose him. Dogma or Fugue.

"Don't," he muttered, " _Please_." But Fox persisted.

"I need you to know I'll love you no matter what. Pounamu and Emory will love you no matter what," he brought his husband's hands to his waist, wrapping his own around his shoulders. There were dangerously close and Fox could feel him soothing the palms of his stomach. His riduur put Fox above himself, yet Fox would do the same for him.

"Who do you _want_ to be?"

"I want to be Fugue."


	6. Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am definitely going to edit this chapter but I needed to finish it.

Fox was proud and grateful to say his son's next three birthdays were infinitely better than the first. He would prefer the first being the worst compared to all of the future ones as well but knowing their luck that wouldn't be the case. The past few years had been relatively pleasant compared to the majority of his life and he wouldn't have had them any other way.

Echo ended up staying with them a tiny bit longer than they had originally planned. He kept saying that he would leave, that he shouldn't continue being a nuisance, but Fox would always insist he stuck around. After lingering for two years, Echo stopped bringing it up. Echo might have been stubborn but he wasn't Fox's degree of stubbornness.

Like he had suspected, Pounamu's progress had been set back by the attempted murder of Emory. She had become prone to losing control of her abilities: shattering or floating objects whenever Echo was near Emory. Fox was attempting to apply what few lessons he had overheard while at the Jedi temple, but what helped her was Emory expressing his faith in Echo. Her trusting Echo was a step in the right direction for her connection to the Force; she had been taught to exploit passionate anger during her brief but impactful time with the Grand Inquisitor. It had nevertheless taken months for her to open up to Echo, yet she would eventually start calling him uncle (Ba'vodu was reserved for Fugue and Fox, but she would sometimes call them uncle as well.). When she was older, she would better understand the torment her uncles had gone through, but, for now, he was going to ensure she never felt it herself.

While he and Echo could give Pounamu limited advice on her Force abilities, they were all clueless as to how they could help Emory. What Fox had taken as foresight was actually his son flat-out getting visions in his sleep. It was terrifying to think about how ignorant he was on the subject of Force visions and he wished he knew how to help his son. He didn't like the feeling of inadequacy he got whenever he was stumped as a parent.

The reveal of the visions was Emory began talking about a pale man in a dark cloak with glowing, yellow eyes. That was when Fox recognized the validity of the dreams. These weren't normal nightmares because Emory had never been more terrified than when he had described Palpatine to his buir and, more importantly, what he was doing: looking over the blueprints of a planet-destroying weapon. Fox had seen the blueprints a lifetime ago, so it was distressing to hear his child describe them so thoroughly along with the walls of the Imperial Palace.

That had been the day he had explained to Emory who his dar'buir was. Not in depth because there were certain subjects that would only be appropriate for later in Emory's life, but enough to make him understand his father was the leader of the Empire and he had hurt his buir. His son had wondered if the scars on his stomach were from his father. Fox hated how he used that word, yet he had answered truthfully: Palpatine is not your father, but he was the one who scarred me.

Emory was happy Fugue was his bu instead because he didn't like the idea of anyone harming his buir.

\------

Fugue had long ago adjusted to being woken up by Emory: back when he was a baby and needed to be fed every few hours or so. He had been fond of reminding them with stuttered, shrill cries, but waking up to have him discuss his visions was new. He understood how deep of a sleeper he was so he should have expected how violently Emory had shaken to stir him.

He blinked awake to his son hanging over him which was not as rare as it should've been. Pushing his face into his pillow, he wore away at his tiredness so he could provide his full attention. Emory scooted back as Fugue sat up in the bed. They both peeked over to where Fox had remained asleep. Good; Fugue had told Emory and Pounamu to come to him if they needed anything in the night because Fox didn't sleep enough as it was. He took comfort in the steady rising of Fox's chest and the way his whole being softened in his slumber.

Fugue could gaze at his husband forever, but their son had priority.

"What happened?" Fugue questioned, yawning as quietly as he could. Emory didn't appear to be frightened or sad, so it was one of the happier visions. Fugue preferred happier visions. The last one had ended up with the five of them running from a horde of stormtroopers at what Emory had deemed a "scary planet" in his vision and once had been enough for him.

Emory leaned into his side as Fugue wrapped an arm around him. He whispered, still glancing at his buir, "Another dream."

Emory and Pounamu were getting old way too fast for Fugue's taste, so he cherished his ability to cuddle his son without being pushed away.

"Did it tell you anything?" Visions were full of purpose; the Force didn't do anything without meaning or motive.

"We need to go to Ryloth," his son said, sure of himself. Fugue had no reason to not recognize it as the truth.

He allowed for Emory to crawl over him so he could settle in between his two buire and he watched for a few moments as two of the three most important people in his life slept. Fugue felt like there was something about Ryloth Fox didn't like or something he knew, but nothing came to mind. They would have to deal with that problem while they were on the planet because chasing a vision was favorable to ignoring it.

\------

The Free Ryloth Movement had been left in ruins after the failed assassination attempt of the Emperor and Darth Vader a few months prior when the two had been stranded on the planet. It sickened Fox to be on the same soil where Palpatine had stepped and where Pounamu's parents had died, yet Emory discerned they needed to be there a reason that evaded him.

Echo had questioned why they were following Emory through a canyon, wind picking up the sand and working it through their clothes or armor in Echo's case, but Fox reminded him that they had offered for him to stay back at the ship. This shut him up.

It was when they had been walking aimlessly for an hour that Fox started to see Echo's reasoning, but he trusted his son's instincts above everything else.

Echo got his answer when they were ambushed by a lone freedom fighter. Fox heard the rustling before the others so he had been quick to fire a warning shot before aiming at the stranger. Echo and Fugue followed suit and the fighter offered a second of peace so they could talk. As they had gotten closer, Fox realized he had no lekkus but he supposed there would be humans on Ryloth. Among their minimalist armor lay two, blue vambraces and a hidden face. Echo glanced at the vambraces in puzzlement but didn't disclose anything after Fugue had questioningly eyed him.

They explained they were refugees which wasn't technically a lie, but they all breathed out in relief when he took their answer. Covering their faces along with two children had helped their case. He had no idea how the young man would have reacted to three clones to Ryloth. They probably wouldn't have been as trusted. Most citizens had no idea about the chips in the head of all the clones, so amongst the fledgling Rebellion, they were usually seen as undesirable. He hoped a vod would be able to explain the situation to the Rebellion one day.

The man took them to see Syndulla. Fox had never met the twi'lek but Keeli had given what tidbits of information he could back when he had been stationed on Ryloth, so Fox knew when he was standing right in front of him.

He wasn't nearly as intimidating as he thought he would be.

Yet, Fox could see how the Imperial occupation had hardened Syndulla. He had heard rumors of his daughter leaving for the Rebellion after his son and wife had died, so that would explain his lack of compassion.

He had asked the man, Coyote was his name, why he was wasting his time when their resources were already stretched so thin. Coyote was going to retort, but Fox had interrupted. They had both been miffed by his intrusion, yet Fox began to negotiate anyway. Pounamu did not appreciate being used as a bargaining chip, holding onto Fox as he tried to show Syndulla her face. He had explained who her parents were, that Syndulla owed them this much for their sacrifice, and Syndulla had agreed.

"She has Keeli's eyes," was what he had to say about her parentage.

In the end, they were sent with Coyote to meet with Syndulla's most trusted fighter, Coyote's father.

Fox had been expecting someone around Syndulla's age, not a clone that was Fox's age with a giant Republic symbol staining his face. It was only made more confusing by Echo tearing off his helmet and throwing himself at the unknown clone. There was some fast-paced talking about they thought the other was dead and how it was so good to see them after the initial shock had worn off. Echo started complimenting Coyote after he took off his face covering over how big he had gotten since he had last seen him and how he should've recognized Coyote as soon as he had seen the vambraces. Fox was astonished to see the face so many of his vode had had during the beginning of the war.

It turned quiet and awkward when Echo asked where a person named Kix was; the father avoided eye contact and his son smiled, soft and heartbroken.

Fox was fine with Echo using them as an excuse to move on by introducing them to what Fox assumed was an old member of the 501st and a clone cadet. Jesse, the other clone, recognized Pounamu and seemed irked by Fox but he was thankful Jesse didn't make a scene. He didn't have the best relationship with the 501st but, if Echo trusted him, Jesse could as well. It was incredibly mature of him. Probably something he had learned from raising his son or by dealing with Syndulla. Emory had waved when he was named.

Fugue's introduction had been a bit more interesting as Fugue asked if Jesse had ever heard of a trooper named Dogma from the 501st because that was who he had been before he was reconditioned. Jesse had covered his mouth as his eyes widened, clearly knowing who Dogma was, but before he could utter a single world another person joined the crowd.

Rex.

Who, if Fox recalled correctly, should've died upon impact when his ship crashed into a planet alongside Ahsoka Tano. Rex who was still pissed about Fives' death which was understandable because he didn't notice any of the other occupants before he zeroed in on Fox.

He felt the first punch when it was inches from his face. Fox could've dodged but Rex needed to take out his anger. He had bottled it up back when Fives was dying in his arms. Fox would've allowed Rex to attack him then as he did now. He only regretted having his son watch, but Fugue had blocked Emory's and Pounamu's view. None of the contacts hurt besides the jab at his stomach, but Kote's vod'ika, his vod'ika, had angry tears cascading down his face the entire time. Rex had to be dragged off of him by Jesse and, despite being held back, yelled about how a vod killer shouldn't have been spared by the Empire. Out of all their vode, why was Fox alive?

Echo, of all people, defended him by shouting at his ex-captain and that was when Rex realized Echo was there. It was when he realized Emory was Fox's, that he had saved Pounamu, that he had been manipulated by the Emperor to kill Fives, that he had forgiven Echo even though Echo had tried to kill his child, and that Dogma was Fugue.

Rex had given Fox a short apology, but Fox understood that he would have to regain his trust just like how Echo had to gain his. Rex had been more preoccupied with the last fact he had learned. It had caused him to start reprimanding himself for not telling Echo about his brother's death. How he should've explained it even though Echo hadn't asked because he had never been able to tell him about Tup. He apologized to Fugue about not shooting General Krell and Fugue had accepted it, but Fugue hid that he had no recollection of who that was. That day had been filled with many explanations of why and where all the clones had been over the past four years.

This had been why Emory declared they needed to go to Ryloth: family. It might not have been exactly as perfect as Emory had wanted, but it was a start. He understood that this was the start of his aliit and, even with Rex being mean to his buir, he cared about them. The Force had never guided him wrong before. He knew that in the end his buire and sister were going to be happy and that was all that mattered to him.


	7. Epilogue: Tattoos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the people who have been following this fic. Again, READ AD'IKE if you want the full story.
> 
> This is an epilogue of sorts.

Over the course of his life, Fox had gotten fifteen tattoos. As a cadet, he had learned how to manipulate a gun to decorate the skin of his vod just as easily as he could shoot it. Tattoos had never been something he wanted on his own body. He was fulfilled by giving to his brothers. The jade rose on Thorn’s back or the tramp stamp on Thire’s (it said ”Property of the Republic” and was the result of losing a bet) were a mere few among the hundreds he had given. It was a semi-right of passage in the Guard to be given a tattoo by the Commander.

He had never wanted his own until he had finished applying Fugue’s. Fugue, to his knowledge at the time, had never tattooed before so Fox was willing to be his test dummy (Later, Fugue would remember the teardrop he had sketched into his brother’s cheek.). Fox didn’t care if his tattoos clashed or if they weren’t perfect. They represented the people in his life and that was more important than aesthetics. For all the ones he couldn’t complete by himself, Fugue assisted.

His first tattoo had been burned off of him.

His second tattoo was for Emory.

Rex, after seeing the scars on his stomach, queried over why he hadn’t just covered them up with a tattoo. Rex had grown up with him even if he had been trailing after Kote the majority of the time. The blue jaig eyes on his shoulder had been done by Fox, so Rex knew he had always been able to tattoo and tattoo well.

Fox had never had the resources before, but when Rex gave him the ink and the gun as a gift he had accepted them with glee. It was the first sign that Rex was beginning to trust him again.

He tattooed Emory’s hand over his heart in the red of his old armor.

His third tattoo was for Fugue.

For his husband.

For the man who had seen the good in him even when no one else did.

For the man who had stuck by his side and who would keep on following him.

For the man who has so much he would never remember about his past.

He tattooed Fugue’s hand over Palpatine’s left in a swirl of blue and crimson.

His fourth tattoo was for Echo.

He may have tried to kill his child, but he had become Fox’s vod. Though he knew he could never replace or fill the gap that Fives had left, he would do anything for the uncle of his children. Out of all of his vode, he was the closest to Echo. The vod understood him on a level no one besides Fugue did. Besides, him trying to murder Emory had become an inside joke.

He tattooed Echo’s hand over Palpatine’s right in a harsh mix of black and blue and just like that Palpatine was gone.

His fifth tattoo was for Pounamu.

His niece.

His eldest child.

She had grown into her own without much assistance. Fox was saddened by her need to grow up quicker than most, but he was still able to give her moments where she was allowed to be a child. He hoped Keeli and General Di approved of how he had raised their daughter.

He tattooed Pounamu’s hand next to Emory’s in a dark brownish-red.

His sixth tattoo was for Rex.

Rex had always been Kote’s vod’ika, so it was weird seeing them separated. Fox preferred not to dwell over the possible whereabouts of his batchmates. All of them had been extremely close to their generals, so he couldn’t imagine how they must have felt after the Jedi Purge or if they had felt anything at all.

Rex eventually forgave him for Fives’ death because he, like Echo, had realized he couldn’t stay mad at someone who had had no choice. It had also been helped by Echo advocating for him and Rex appreciated having Echo back.

It was at this point he questioned how many uncles his kids might have in the future.

He tattooed Rex’s hand on his shoulder, mirroring his own design on the skin of his vod’ika, in blue.

His seventh tattoo was for Jesse.

Fox had never met Jesse before going to Ryloth, but he had found that he really liked the other man. He had been shocked to learn that Jesse was a deserter, but the situation was understandable. He had left the GAR after the death of his husband because Kix had asked him to take Coyote and leave if he ever marched on. Fox could respect that.

He tattooed Jesse’s hand on his back in 501st blue.

His eighth tattoo was for Coyote.

The cousin of both of his kids. Jesse had raised him into a fine, young man. It was disappointing to see someone who had been a cadet shift from one battlefield to another, but Coyote could leave if he ever so pleased. Coyote loved his younger cousins and loved gaining more family in general. Fox knew he was Coyote’s favorite ba’vodu. He didn’t know why, but he thought it had something to do with all the times he became very verbal of his distaste of Palpatine.

He tattooed Coyote’s hand on his back, next to that of his buir, in the same shade as his vambraces.

His ninth tattoo was for Wolffe.

He had been surprised by the fact Wolffe was alive and it had been confirmed he felt horrible about his general’s death in spite of not being involved. Fox was happy to get one of his batchmates back. When he had told him who Emory’s dar’buir was, it was one of the most satisfying reactions because he was disgusted and mad and he expressed. Having his vod’ika again, having him be a ba’vodu to Pounamu and Emory, having him see them grow up, was amazing.

He tattooed Wolffe’s hand on the opposite shoulder of Rex’s in grey.

His tenth tattoo was for Gregor.

Gregor had arrived at the same time as Wolffe. He was batshit insane and thought Pounamu or Emory using the Force was about the coolest thing ever. Fox wouldn't let them alone around Gregor until they were in their teens, but Gregor sort of understood why. Apparently, he had been a captain of the 212th: another reminder of the ori’vod he had lost. It had felt like failing Kote again when Gregor died.

He tattooed Gregor’s hand on his back in 212th gold.

His eleventh tattoo was for Ahsoka.

She had been the one to find and bring the two clones to Ryloth. She had matured since the last time Fox had seen her. He couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of Skywalker trying to kill him to avenge the death of a padawan who was still alive. Ahsoka apparently had never possessed any ill will towards him which didn’t matter to Skywalker. Of course, he had told her that her old master was still alive. She, Rex, and Jesse had a right to know. She hadn’t shown her inner turmoil, but Fox knew it was there. She had mumbled about how she should’ve listened to someone instead of putting blind faith in her master. For the brief time she was with them, she helped train Emory and Pounamu in their abilities. She was slightly less ignorant about Force visions so it was nice to finally be able to give his son guidance. Coyote, Pounamu, and Emory all called her Aunt ‘Soka and immense joy was created every time the endearment was used.

After she had left, doing whatever Fulcrum business she needed to do. The clones split up. None of them wanted to waste Ryloth’s resources, having stayed for a few months, and they enjoyed going off on their own. Rex, Wolffe, and Gregor went to Seelos to attempt to live in the desert climate. Fox, Fugue, Echo, Pounamu, and Emory went back to planet-hopping. They would visit each other every once in a while.

He tattooed Ahsoka’s hand below Rex’s in orange.

His twelfth tattoo was for Numa.

She was one of Syndulla’s best fighters so it made sense she would become friends with Coyote. He knew Syndulla had talked about letting her lead the movement after he had passed. Numa was like the younger daughter he never had and the orphan looked up to Syndulla as if he were her father. Physically, Coyote was seven years older than Numa, but chronologically Numa was three years older than Coyote. It made things a little confusing. They didn’t start dating until Numa was in her twenties and the seven-year gap was nothing compared to a fifteen-year gap or a thirty-eight-year gap, so the clones saw nothing wrong. Their marriage had been expected.

Around the time they had gotten married, Emory had gotten a vision about members of the Rebellion searching for Ba’vodu Rex and how one of them was a Jedi. Fox shipped his teenagers to Seelos in order to go with Rex so they could get trained under the unknown Jedi. It was the longest he had ever been separated from them so there had been a lot of anxiety between him and Fugue, but they came back with better control and that was the whole point.

Numa wore the armor of a clone from the 212th that had saved her as a child. She was pleased to learn that Waxer and Boil had been happily married with children even if they had no idea what happened to Kotyc and Mirdala. She believed that they deserved some joy in their lives.

He tattooed Numa’s hand next to Coyote’s in a teal cracked with gold.

His thirteenth tattoo was for Vesta.

It had been years since his last tattoo. She was born a few days before the Battle of Endor so the parents commended themselves for their incredible timing. Vesta had come out a royal purple that never went away to the shock of her parents. Jesse had taken one look at his bu’ad and gone off muttering something about Kix and his stupid theories, teary-eyed as he did so. The ba’buir was overjoyed his son hadn’t ended up a teen parent like his buire.

Fox was relieved Palpatine was finally dead.

He tattooed Vesta’s hand between her ryma’s and buir’s in a purple blurred with blue.

His fourteenth tattoo was for Juniper.

She was a pilot for the Rebellion his son had first met during his time with Kanan Jarrus. Pounamu had joked about how she would've snatched Juniper up if Emory hadn't started getting all gooey around her. Emory called her June and Fox was relieved his son had found someone like how he had found Fugue.

He liked Juniper, but he began to love her after she challenged him to a spar for his son’s hand in marriage. It was an extremely old Mandalorian tradition used for orphaned children with no aliit or newcomers to the culture. Juniper was both so she took that as reason enough to prove her worth to Emory’s buire. Fox indulged her and continued to indulge her for a few months. Every few days she would challenge him again and some days she would challenge Fugue. It came to the point Fox started training her in hand-to-hand combat because the Rebellion gave basic training, but nothing compared to the routine of a clone. He wanted Juniper to beat him or Fugue.

When she finally did, it was with a smile on both of their faces. Fox never went easy on her so they knew she had rightfully earned her place by his son’s side. He was helped up not by Emory’s girlfriend but by his future daughter-in-law.

He tattooed Juniper’s hand on his back right behind Emory’s in the orange of the Rebellion.

His fifteenth tattoo, his last tattoo, was for Rey.

His bu’ad looked exactly like her mother. Fugue and he finally understood the elation Jesse had felt when Vesta was born. Fox never thought he could love someone more than he loved his children, but he was glad to be proven wrong. Pounamu loved to dote on her niece and Fox believed Rey would grow up with a stable, loving family. It had taken them two generations to get to this: it had been worth every hardship to ensure the future of his bu’ad.

It was when she was a year old that the first assassin was sent after her and her parents. They had dealt with the assassin permanently because being raised by Clone War veterans coupled with Juniper’s fighting capabilities and the Force gave them an upper hand.

Then Emory was granted another vision and he knew exactly what he needed to do to ensure order in the Force. Emory had told them everything would work out fine in the end, but Fox could tell in their final embrace that only one person would be coming out alive. It was tighter, neither wanted to let go, and it reminded him of how his baby clenched onto him after a vibroblade had been pressed against his neck. The scar was still there: faint but ever-present.

Fugue and Fox set off to give Emory and Juniper time to make a break for it. He had tried to convince Fugue to stay, but he was stupid if he thought Fugue was ever going to leave him.

The last thing he said to his daughter was about how Keeli and General Di would’ve been proud of the woman she had become.

The last thing he said to his son was telling him to take care of Juniper and Rey and that his buire loved him.

When he lay next to the crumpled form of his husband, he was amused by how offended Palpatine was by the tattoos and by Fox’s refusal to take his own hand one last time.

He wouldn’t fall for it again like he had all those years ago. 

He tattooed Rey’s hand next to that of her buir and ba’vodu in a fiery combination of orange and red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


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